


How much longer need I wait to have you close again?

by Owls_and_snakes



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale needs to treasure him more, Bad Communication, Crowley is a dear, Fix-It, M/M, lockdown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owls_and_snakes/pseuds/Owls_and_snakes
Summary: Aziraphale calls. And then, he calls again...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	How much longer need I wait to have you close again?

**Author's Note:**

> It turned out I needed my own Lockdown fic.  
> Many thanks to [coffeencat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeencat/pseuds/coffeencat) for brainstorming the ending with me and agreeing to beta-read the thing!  
> All mistakes that still made it to the text are on me.  
> I'm sorry for my terrible titling skills.

Well, the conversation didn’t go precisely as Crowley had hoped for it, when he saw the fancy, sparkling letters flashing on his mobile’s screen (he could not point the exact point in time, at which his cellphone had somehow decided to display the angel’s name written in all those swirls and double-lines that made it almost impossible to be read anymore; and with quite an amount of little hearts floating around, too). Up until now, every time Aziraphale has called him, it was to – in a more or less inforward way – leave him an implication that Crowley would be welcomed in the bookshop for a nice, cosy evening, filled with drinking wine and other pleasurably pastimes. The general idea was that, if the angel had not straight invited Crowley over, he would have at least left him with an excuse to pop in anyway.

Never in their whole, six-thousand-years history, would the angel seek him out, only to directly forbid the demon from visiting.

Still, Crowley did his best to not let it take him down. The angel did not state that he did not want to see Crowley, or that Crowley  _ never _ could visit the bookshop again. He just exclaimed that  _ the rules _ did not allow them to meet,  _ right now _ . Crowley would certainly be allowed to drop by, bringing drinks, and chocolates, and croissants, once the Earth is back to its normal, mundane businesses, like trying to survive the ecology crisis, or not to end up in yet another world war.

Yeah, for sure, he will be allowed to see the angel, once all of this is over. In June. Or July, maybe. With that knowledge in mind, Crowley watered his plants (and gave them their fair share of shouting, while he was at it) and turned to his bed. Of course, he did not set the alarm straight to July – he still had to get up and water the flowers every two weeks, or so, or else all of his work with them would go to waste. He lied down, comfortably, and closed his eyes.

They’ve been going whole centuries without meeting each other, he wouldn’t even notice a few short months.

It’s, like, nothing.

For sure.

*

The phone buzzed, forcibly ripping him from the beautifully damned wonderfulness of being unconscious.

That was not his alarm tone. His heart (which was not supposed to be beating at all, but never cared to listen to him anyway) beat ferociously, making him feel rather as if he was choking.

He coughed up, trying to get the betraying hoarseness out of his voice, before he answered the call.

“Hi, Aziraphale. What’s up?”

The person on the other side seemed to wiggle a little with a chord, before finally speaking.

“Oh, hello there, Crowley. Umm, nothing’s happening, here, actually, beside the, you know, usual stuff. Books, umm, and stuff. No young people, trying to get in, this time.”

“Oh, I see, angel.”

“Yes, just boring, as always these days.” the angel chuckled to the old, landline–phone–type of receiver, that Crowley knew he still owned and used. The word  _ boring _ seemed to be wrapt with an especially strong emphasis.

“Sorry to hear.” he mustered in return.

“Oh, no, no. Absolutely no reason to be sorry, my dear, I must admit that I quite enjoy it boring like that. Could almost get used to it.” There was a slight drop in the angel’s voice at the last sentence, or maybe it was Crowley who just imagined it. He offered an affirming  _ Nnh. _ It would be stupid to get his hopes up from just one dubious line. “Anyway, I just wanted to ask how have you been doing? Still confining yourself to the lockdown, dear?”

“Ygh, yeah, all the same, angel. Still not want anybody dying on my account.”

“Oh. Oh sure, dear. I must say, you’re so brave, Crowley, for staying inside and…”

“Nothing brave in sleeping all day, Aziraphale. Bunch of humans do that. You do that.” Crowley pointed out. Still, the less reasonable and more Aziraphale-focused part of him felt this warm, growing bubble of pride at being called brave by his angel.

“You know it’s different for me. I mean, I’m an angel, I have to do the right things.” Aziraphale brushed off. Crowley got an impression that the angel had something else that he wanted to say.

“Uh, maybe.” he managed, and waited.

That swollen with the angel’s praise part of him always felt weird, good things, when there was Aziraphale concerned, that no proper demon should feel. It also usually came up with the craziest ideas, naturally those as well built around Aziraphale’s wellbeing. The other part made a habit of generally agreeing with the first one, even when it, sometimes, should be expected to know better.

“Anyway, umm, I’ve just called to tell you that I’ve discovered today, since I was dealing with the dust on my shelves, you know, so I’ve discovered that I still owned the old Babylon poetry collection, that you were so fond of, back in time. Would you believe! It has sat on my bookshelf all these years! Do you remember when I used to read it to you in the ancients? We were having such a delicious time, before the tower disaster, that is. The humans made some wonderful drinks then. Such a pity they don’t brew ale like that anymore now.”

“Of course I remember, angel. Your side had ordered the tower be shattered to pieces, and you were devising the tiniest obstacles, to make sure all of the people working on it have had the time to evacuate to the safe distance.” he stated.

Well, he definitely did feel brave for not appearing in the middle of the angel’s bookshop, right here right now. Staying away from Aziraphale required lot of perseverance and endurance, as all of Crowley’s instincts were screaming, tearing and burning at him to give up to his wantings and jump straight to spoiling the angel with cake, and crepes, and whatever fancy drink Aziraphale demanded.

“Right. Well, of course it is in rather poor condition, I’m afraid I may be charged with neglecting the proper care for it, but one can surely still read it. You still know how to read Babylonian alphabet, don’t you?” came from the other side of the line.

“Sure I do! The letters were tricky little bastards, so many strokes and dotts, made my eyes burst every time I tried to tell them apart. Is why you were doing the reading.” Crowley reminescened. He did like their time in Babylon.

“Ah, yes, you were very clear about your opinion on them back then.” There was a slight pause. “We could do that again, sometimes. The reading, I mean. Since I’ve happened to still have the poems. In my collection.” This time Aziraphale’s voice certainly did sound inviting.

“Well, my offer of slithering over still stands, if you’re up to it, you know?” Crowley used his best techniques to sound nonchalant and bored. But in his chest, his ribcage felt as if it was to be ripped open from inside. And his head was starting to hurt, from his heart beating like a crazy this whole conversation and setting his blood pressure to an unsightly value.

Could one die from it? Because he sure did not know how he would explain it Below.

“Oh, no, no! That’s not possible. We’re still in the lockdown, remember. It would not be right, to have you coming over. Wouldn't set a good example, would it? No, that can’t happen! We’ll do it… when all of this is over. Soon, I’m sure.”

“Ah. Yeah, sure, you’re right, angel.” Maybe the angel didn’t notice the way his voice almost broke. If Crowley could hope for such luck. “Then, see you, when this is over.”

“Yes, see you, Crowley.”

The line went quiet.

*

His plants didn’t need another watering yet, but he gave it a round nonetheless. What else was here to do, anyway?

*

“You can not pay him a visit. He made it exceptionally clear that he does not wish for that.” Crowley spoke, to the small, fern–plant he held in his left hand (that was because his right hand was occupied with a plant sprinkler in a vibrant, green color). The fern seemed to look back at him, as if agreeing.

It better be agreeing, if it knew, what’s good for it.

“And he told you’re brave, for staying inside. What would he think of you, if you decided to break his trust after that, huh? Nothing proper, that’s for sure. And the angel was so considerate to even call  _ twice _ to check on you. Would you like to repay by violating his request? No, you have to be respectful little snake, and stay in your own flat.” The plant’s look of agreement did not vanish.

Crowley noded fiercely, almost hitting his forehead with the sprinkler.

It was this thing called “boundaries”. Every relationship needed them, in order to become healthy and fulfilling, and crossing them was considered hurting and toxic, and testified that the person committing the crossing did not care for the other’s wellbeings and inner comfort.

He heard it in a radio broadcast once, the same kind, from which he took the advice about talking to your houseplants. That previous one turned out to be working spectacular, so it was obvious the other one must be true, too.

Crowley did not care about anything else, then the angel’s wellbeings. So, no visits. No crossing Aziraphale’s boundaries. Just patiently waiting for the lockdown to end.

He just really wished he could pop in the bookshop, even if just for a moment, but all he could do right now was to order a decent plate of italian take-out and give Aziraphale’s data, when they asked for the address. Knowing the angel, he probably has been eating baked goods and nothing else for the whole two weeks now; there’s no way it can be good for his stomach!

“And you better grow properly!” he shouted to the plant, before putting it back in its place. He picked up another one.

*

It turned out there was one thing Crowley could do, to speed up the end of a lockdown a little. He’s been a healer once, and he did remember some tricks, after all. His fingers still stung slightly a few days later – demons are not meant to use angelic miracles – it was nothing he could not live with though.

It didn’t mean he was a nice person. He wasn’t commiting a good deed, if he’s been doing it for his own, selfish purposes, you see.

*

“Crowley, dear! It’s me, A–”

“Aziraphale, yes, hello.” Crowley broke in, before the angel could finish his sentence. Absentmindedly, he miracled his legs into the snake's tail, and then back into fitting limbs. He was doing it for the last hour. They looked funny, if he coiled the tail, before changing it back to human. “How has life been, angel?”

“Well, quite good, thank you for asking. And yours? I must say, I wasn’t sure you would answer, you had declared, some time ago, that you were planning to take a nap.”

“Naah, couldn’t fall asleep, you know.” he shrugged.

“Oh, really? Sorry to hear that, I know how fond of a sleep you are.”

“Not a big deal.”

It was a big deal. He didn’t close his eyes, as humans put it, for a single second, since the last call from Aziraphale. It wasn’t working well on his mind.

And his mood.

Especially his mood.

Was it always so exhausting to be… humanish?

“Um, anyway, I need to tell you, I’ve been exploring the cooking books some further, and you would not believe it: I’m now in possession of my own-made wild strawberry wine! I’ve even made the yeast using the beer, from the receipt I’ve found on that interweb–thing!”

“Inter– _ net _ , Aziraphale.”

“You’re right, I never seem to properly remember it! Don’t have a head for it.” the angel cheerfully went on.

“Isn’t it too early for the wild strawberries, yet? And wouldn’t making a wine take some more time?” Crowley acquired, his curiosity slightly stirred.

“Em, I may have used a few miracles.” It was amazing how the guilty wiggling was actually hearable in Aziraphale’s voice.

“Of course. Umm, listen, Aziraphale, ugg – I assume it’s impossible for me to pop round your place and take a sip or two?” Crowley already suspected the answer he would get from the angel.

“No! Heaven forbid, it would be a severe violation of the rules! Well, then, it was great to hear from you, Crowley. Bye!”

“Bye, angel” he managed to sputtered, before the angel hung up, and all that he could hear was the annoying high pitch the empty line made. “Yeah, just as I’ve thought.” he said to himself.

*

Aziraphale put the receiver of his aged, although still perfectly effective, landline phone back, as he smiled broadly. Surely, this time he had made his message perfectly clear. “Severe violation of the rules” and “heaven forbid” must do the work.

With a sense of a mission done great, he prepared the glasses and submitted himself to waiting.

After a moment, he jiggled lightly. The cake looked so appetizing, and he had some leftovers in the kitchen. There’s no point in waiting hungry.

*

The knocking was loud. Expressively loud.

It left no doubt that the person standing on the other side had set on being heard and was not going to accept anything else.

Crowley just hoped it wasn’t the family, who lived here before him. He still owned them a cat, for the one he found, already occupying the place, when he first came in, and then never returned it. He did not possess any cat to give them.

Who would even expect them to come back for it, a few hundred years later?

The knocking still persisted. Crowley has said goodbye to his wishes of whoever–it–was giving up, and, grumbling, he get up from the couch he was currently very busy with sprawling his limbs the farest possible on (well, more than getting up, he slide off, and then spend a solid moment, trying to coordinately collect various parts of himself from the floor, but he wouldn’t like anybody to know that).

“For Satan’s sake, Crowley!” Aziraphale burst in and started speaking, as soon as Crowley opened the door. The demon also wanted to speak. Something like  _ What are you doing here, weren't you supposed to be spending the lockdown in your shop?  _ or  _ Aziraphale, how wonderful to see you! _ Or, else:  _ Am I hallucinating you?  _ He said  _ Ngk. _ “I’ve been waiting forever. Set wine and dessert porcelains ready, how much longer are you going to make me sit in this damn bookshop alone?!”

He faced Crowley’s room, with a clearly unhappy expression.

Crowley was not following.

“I– umm– make you– sorry, what?”

“I’ve been waiting for you for the whole fucking week! Been calling you and all. And you never showed up.” came the complaint.

Crowley’s mouths dropped open. He could see that the words falling out of Aziraphale’s lips started to link together in a message, but, truly, that message was not making any sense.

“You… wanted me to come?”

“Yes! Isn’t it obvious?!”

No, it wasn’t. Crowley discovered that he was, apparently, very close to panicking, if the breathing trouble and all of his mental processes switching off were anything to go by.

“You forbid me to come! Said all the thingsss about the rulez and everything.” 

He thought he did good. Apparently,  _ he thought wrong. _

“Well of course I did say that. You’re a demon, you’re supposed to be breaking the rules!” pointed out the angel.

“What? How was I to know?”

“I’ve told you on the phone, didn’t I? That you should be going out, giving the bad example. How could you not know that I wanted you to come over?” 

“Angel don’t be ridiculous, NOBODY WOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT YOU WANTED THEM TO COME! YOU’VE DIRECTLY TOLD ME NOT TO COME. REPETITIVELY."

“Well, but I obviously did not mean that!” 

“How was I supposed to tell?” 

“Because you’re you! I always say things like this, and you always come anyway and–” the angel broke off, suddenly, his whole expression falling down. Dimmed. “ooh. Oh.”

“No, angel, no–no!” Crowley jumped. Seeing the angel’s face clouded like this felt like a blow to his gut. As if he just kicked a puppy, or something likewisely appalling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything, sorry that I didn't get what you’ve meant, and sorry I didn’t come, I would love to come, crave to, really!”

“No, Crowley, you’re right, absolutely right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t expect you– it was extremely selfish of me. I’m really sorry.” the angel just stood there, staring at Crowley with big, uneasy eyes. Crowley, for a change, was speechless. Then Aziraphale swung on his feets nervously. “Ah, I should really go, shouldn't I? Yes, umm, right. Sorry, Crowley, for being such an awful company. Umm, yes. Have a great rest of the day, dear.”

With a rising panic threatening to burst him open, Crowley tried to catch Aziraphale’s coat, as the angel turned away. He felt cold, like an icicle pierced right through him. “Angel,  _ please _ !” he pleaded, his voice shrieking undignified, but the other already was stepping out of the cold flat.

Crowley run after him on, out through the door and to the corridor. “Please! Please, angel, I will do whatever you want! I didn’t meant what I said. Just don’t leave me!”

That, miraculously, seemed to do the work, as Aziraphale stopped in his steps and turned back to him. His face showed a true amazement.

“What, dear, I’m not going to leave you!” the angel stated, shooting Crowley a concerned look. “Oh my, I did that again, didn’t I? Left you all worrying on your own? I’m so sorry, dear, I’m truly a terrible company.”

“Nnh.” Crowley decided to use his chance and grab Aziraphale, before the angel started to resume walking again.“I know one  _ sorry _ is not enough, but I’m sorry, for being so selfish, and pushing you away. You’ve got all the right to be angry at me. I’m always burdening you with the responsibility of pulling this relationship forward, while all I do is conveniently hide behind.” the angel continued and Crowley  _ hymp _ –ted, because how could he ever be angry with Aziraphale? “I promise I will do better, starting right now!.For starters, what would you say, if I visited you, properly this time? Brought the wine and, umm, what would you like me to bring, Crowley?”

“Crepes.” said Crowley. The  _ not leaving _ echoed through his head, there, and back again, albeit he still held tight to the angel, just in case.

“But you don’t like eating crepes!” protested Aziraphale.

“I like you eating them.” he reasoned, like it was the most simple thing in a world, and in a way, it was.

“Okay, so wine and crepes.” the angel agreed, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “Then… could you, maybe, forgive me? For being such a disastrous boyfriend?”

Did the angel say  _ boyfriend _ ?! Because his heart almost dropped out of his chest.

“Always.” he forced his vocal chords to muster, not wanting his angel to ever doubt that. He stood there a few moments longer, nuzzling his head into the angel’s neck. “So, no leaving?” finally he brought the courage to ask.

He felt Aziraphale’s head shook. The angel patted his hair, his hand nice and warm. “No, not a way!”

“Theeen,” the demon started, dragging out the word on his tongue. His fingers found the other of the angel's hands, hanging loosely at Aziraphale’s side, and clutched it. “what ‘bout, we both come inside, call for a pizza, and you bring wine with crepes some other time?”

He held his breath and glanced from below, risking a look at Aziraphale’s face.

The angel was beaming at him. Crowley felt his own smile forming on his lips.

“Sure, my dear.”


End file.
